


Why Exactly was I Afraid of him

by younoknowme93



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, POV Neville Longbottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/younoknowme93/pseuds/younoknowme93
Summary: Just a short oneshot of this rare pairing.  Mostly it consists of Neville thinking.





	Why Exactly was I Afraid of him

**Author's Note:**

> I low key adore this couple. Unfortunately it's a bit harder for me to come up with topics for stories with them together. I haven't felt well lately, otherwise this likely would have been a longer more fleshed out story, but I really just wanted to write something quick and simple.

Why exactly was I afraid of him.  Sure, he’s a mean viper.  I was so small and pudgy.  He certainly didn’t hold back.  His black eyes haunted my dreams every night.  I hated going to his class. 

Why exactly was I afraid of him. 

His eyes were striking and clearly focused on his task.  His hands were skilled at all manners of chopping and dicing.  His tone was at times nails on chalkboard and times silk.  He could one second be standing regally while looking down his nose with an icy glare, and then the next be almost…

_Gentle._

I never had many talents.  Merlin, I was as pathetic as they come.

And I was so terrified of my mean greasy potions professor.  My professor who cared not that the small vermin he dissected were once alive.  He would slice them all the same.  And I hated him for his lack of care.

Why exactly was I afraid of him.

Before I realized how naturally herbology came to me, I caught a sight I have never told anyone.  It was so unnatural that I half believed I imagined the entire thing.

My evil greasy potion’s professor who I know must hate me, was humming pleasantly while tending to one of the many plants in the green house.  It was no secret that he came and went from here as he pleased.  After all he’s in charge of brewing all the potions for the medical wing.  He has first dibs on any and all plants as long as it’s for the school.  It was one of the reasons I tried to avoid the green house when not in class.

But today I forgot one of my books and I needed to get it back for studying.  Most were in the great hall at this time.  It was no wonder he felt no one would be around.  But there he was, humming pleasantly with a smile on his face almost like he were human. 

He was uprooting the mandrake and I almost rushed in.  He wasn’t wearing the ear muffs.  What if it screamed and he died.  As stupid as I am, even I know that this is dangerous.  Instead he hums louder. 

“Just going to take a bit of your leaves and a small bit of your roots.”  Is all he says before returning to humming.  The plant doesn’t scream.  It doesn’t carry on like I’ve always seen them do.  He finishes quickly and then replanted the passive plant.

He gathered his things and left.  Not thinking clearly, I didn’t move.  I just stood there as he exited.  I came face to face with the man that my boggart turned into.  He raised one of his eyebrows.

“Mr. Longbottom.  You should be in the great hall at this time.”  His voice is like ice.

“I had forgotten something.  I came back to get it.  I thought you had to kill mandrakes to harvest them for potions.”

“In some cases, it cannot be avoided, but that isn’t true in all cases.  If the mandrake willingly gives up it’s leaves and roots, then it can be just as potent.  They are intelligent enough that they would rather give up parts of themselves in order to preserve their life.  If I do not have to kill the plant then that is preferred.  It does take such a long time for them to mature.”  He says in his teacher voice.  I don’t bring up the humming.  Or the smiling.

Why exactly was I afraid of him.

I remember spending a lot of time in the green house after that.  Every spare moment I could.  It was like I was obsessed.  And it started to come naturally to me.  Sometimes my professor would come to harvest ingredients.  Or sometimes after class, he would stop me to ask me to gather the ingredients.  He said that as terrible as I am at potions, is as good as I am with herbology.  He trusted me to get good quality ingredients.  He trusted my knowledge of plants.  And it didn’t matter how rude the comment sounded, I was flattered that he trusted my abilities.

Why exactly was I afraid of him.

When he killed the headmaster, I was in disbelief.  I would never say that the sour man was kind, but I would have never called him a murderer.  I felt betrayed.  But I didn’t know why.  Then he came back as the new headmaster and all the more I was angry.  I searched his face for anything that could give me the truth.  Is he truly as evil as he seems right now, or is there more to it.

The green houses seemed so much grayer. 

Why exactly was I afraid of him. 

There were moments that it seemed like his mask was cracking but it was covered too quickly for me to be sure.  The night of the final battle of Hogwarts happened.  Harry was no where to be found.  Everyone had given up hope, and I drew the sword of Gryffindor.  Me.  The pathetic fat boy that always got strung up by his shorts.  The pathetic fat boy who wasn’t good at anything.  The boy who’s parents didn’t even know who he was.  The boy who stood shaking trying to stop his friends from leaving the common room first year. 

When Harry returned, I was relieved.  I’m not really cut out for being the chosen one, but I was willing to fill that space if I needed too. 

Why exactly was I afraid of him.

And then the empty hospital room.   Harry told me about our Professor’s memories.  He told me that he was loyal to Dumbledore.  He told me that he was a spy.  He told me that he was dealt a rough hand.  But Harry didn’t elaborate.  It isn’t my first time seeing a person I love strapped to a hospital bed.  And it was at that moment that I realized.

Why exactly was I afraid of him?!

Because his dark eyes haunted my dreams each night until they were all I could see.  It felt like I was always chasing his acceptance.  It felt like I was always trying to stay in his line of sight so that I would haunt him as much as he haunts me. 

It took time for recovery and not just the physical injuries.  It took time for him to see me as a man, and it took patience on my part to not give up.  I visited him everyday until he was eventually released.  And even then.  I asked if I could continue to visit him.  He eyed me suspiciously.  Searching for any ill intent, but he wouldn’t find any.  I continued to visit him every day. 

I continued to wear him down until my presence beside him became a comfortable norm. 

Why exactly was I afraid of him.

His arm is slung over my body as his chest is pressed against my side.  His hair is covering his face like a curtain.  His long leg is wrapped over my body to make sure that I cannot leave.  It seems everyday my husband surprises me.  As he clings to me in his sleep I cannot figure out why exactly I was afraid of him.  I’m sure I once had a reason, but I certainly don’t anymore.


End file.
